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May 24, 2017

Some memoirs
are kick back, relax and drink in the story kind-of books. Others are sit up,
take notice, grab a pack of Post-its and a highlighter, and prepare to have your
soul rocked.

Loved Back to Life by Sheila Walsh was a soul-rocker
for me.

In her
mid-30s, Sheila was at the top of her career as co-host of The 700 Club when
she hit her breaking point. She checked herself into a psychiatric hospital
where she stayed for a month.

In trying to
balance a career and the chaos inside her head, Sheila writes, “If I’d had
something that showed up on an X-ray, it would have been easier to rally
support, but what do you say when you feel as if you are losing your mind?”

Boldly,
Sheila lays out a kaleidoscope of emotions and experiences – owning each one as
a work of art that ultimately provided an important lesson in the tapestry of
her life.

In addition
to pointing out the specks in other people’s eyes, she reveals the logs in her
own. And right there in the introduction she proclaims: “The truth that I
thought would kill me actually saved my life.”

But Sheila’s journey
was far from easy.

A “friend”
tried to dissuade her from entering the psychiatric hospital, saying, ‘Please,
Sheila, don’t do this. If you do, God won’t be able to use you again... Once
the public finds out where you’ve been, well, your ministry will be over.”

But, you see,
Sheila wasn’t trying to save her ministry. She was trying to save her life.

JUDGEMENT-FREE ZONE

It’s amazing
how when we sink to our lowest levels, the comments of others can suffocate us
like constrictive second skins. Some people told Sheila she was on the cusp of
a breakdown because she wasn’t praying hard enough. Others suggested she’d done
something in her past for which she was now being punished. Still others had
the “Buck up little camper” attitude and reminded her how much she had (materialistically)
to be thankful for, as well as how much she stood to lose if she went public
with her mental illness.

I became
angry when I read some of the comments from people involved in ministry. I
received similar treatment in not one, but two churches, and there’s an especially
painful sting when judgment comes from a purportedly Godly place.

Sheila points
out, “Jesus never encouraged His friends to cover over the pain in their lives,
but to bring it into the light, where healing is found ... Jesus never shamed
anyone. He did, however, call out some of the church leaders on their
hypocrisy.”

In fact, Jesus
was repeatedly drawn to the least of these, such as the Samaritan woman at the
well, who was “mistrusted by woman and joked about among men.” Jesus not only
befriended her, but also told her, “I know it all, and I still love you.”

Same with
Mary Magdalene, the tax collector, the thief dying beside Him on the cross and countless
others.

Sadly, most
people are so consumed in their own lives that they have no interest in
traveling to the depths of despair if they can avoid such a trip: “Rather than
people moving closer, pressing in to see what was wrong, they drifted farther
away.”

As I read, I
became slightly consumed in my own hurt, but then I witnessed Sheila’s grace.
And the grace extended to her by God. I plunked down several Post-it note reminders
to be kind, always, with myself and others:

“If one of us
stumbles – gets caught in a lie, falls off the sobriety wagon, has an affair –
the rest of us will simply keep walking, praying that we will learn to be
better judges of character next time. We allow our disappointment to become
distance, confirming the worst fears of the person who is left lying in the
dust: ‘I am a bad person; why did I even hope that God could love me?’”

And this
reminder: “Hurting believers whose lives are in tatters need real help. If we
were able to put aside our need for approval long enough to be authentic, then,
surely, we would be living as the church.”

And one more:
“It is not our job to try and shame the world, but to love them with the love
of Christ.”

MENTAL ILLNESS

Sheila
tackles the subject of depression and takes a hammer to the stigma that’s still
surrounds mental illness.

She wrestles
with why God gave her this burden, and imagines the Father, Son and Holy Spirit
grappling with the best way to teach her valuable lessons about overcoming
fears: “We will invite her greatest fears to visit her. They will take up
residence, but only for a while. It is only in living with them that she will
ever overcome them.”

One of her
greatest fears was being viewed unfavorably by others. “I had spent so much of
my life measuring who I was by how other people viewed me... How could I
explain to people who called from all around the country what I was struggling
to understand myself.”

A close friend
told Sheila: “When the pain of remaining the same is greater than the pain of
change, you’ll change.”

Amazing how
pain can energize us with an intensity we otherwise might not possess.

Like Sheila,
I’ve struggled with clinical depression for as far back as I can remember, I’ve
probably got a leg up on some of the MDs out there when it comes to knowing
both sides of the story. I’ve done all the research and I know how depression feels. In fact, when I struggled with
postpartum depression in 2007 and touched the edges of my own breaking point
with death lapping at my ankles, a new low registered in my mind.

There are
many days, still now, that I’m keenly aware of just how far down my mind is
capable of going.

On this
topic, Sheila writes, “You can try for years to deny the things that are
tearing at your soul, but they will not go away. They thrive in the
shadowlands, and if you don’t deal with them, they will one day deal with you.”

WOMAN OF FAITH

I heard
Sheila speak at a women’s conference in September 2016, a tumultuous time when
I almost didn’t attend the conference because of the mess of my own life. I was
living at my dad’s house as we journeyed through his last days of in-home
hospice care. My life was at a crossroads in many areas, not just with losing
my dad, and I was afraid of what was ahead.

In both her
talk and in this book, I appreciated that Sheila doesn’t dance around difficult
subjects. There’s a freshness in her directness, and a wisdom that comes from
being in hell’s basement and clawing your way out.

I once had a
pastor read my memoir and tell me he appreciated that I told my story with
“gut-level honesty”. Since that day, I have strived for nothing less and I like
that Sheila has done the same.

While Loved
Back to Life is indeed a love story, the affection is less about the man who
later becomes Sheila's husband and more about how she learns to fully love herself –
battle wounds and all – through the never-ending love of Christ.

As for the
“friend” who said her ministry would be over if she went into the psychiatric
hospital, the opposite turned out to be true. Sheila signed on with Women of
Faith for several years, and now has a ministry called “Life Today,” plus a
handful of books in print. Learn more at www.sheilawalsh.com

Amy Lyon is
the author of the memoir, “Only God Knows Why: A Mother’s Memoir of Death and
Rebirth,” and the inspirational romance, “Divine Interruption.” You can connect
with her at www.amylyon.com

November 1, 2015

This was considered a "nicer" shelter, because guests had space between mats.

When I volunteered at the homeless shelter in Minneapolis, I often
became overwhelmed. There was so much need and so much pain, and I was
only one person. I’m sure I sounded like a broken record, telling my
friend Jen that it was too draining on me and I didn’t think I could do
it anymore. Every night we saw the same people and it seemed like very
few of them wanted to escape homelessness.

She was the voice of reason, reminding me that I was focused on me
when I should be focused on them. At times the feeling that I couldn’t
make a real difference was so debilitating that I wanted to turn away
from volunteering all together. Maybe focus instead on something I could
control.

I see now that it was a defining moment for me. I didn’t turn
away because I couldn’t. The pull was too strong and it was in those
moments - trying to coordinate how we would find volunteers to feed 50
men and women every night – that I saw the hand of God most clearly.
There was not one night in that shelter’s first year that those men and
women went without dinner.

I can’t even tell you how many times Jen and I marveled at the
miracles: We had no one scheduled for dinner and received a call that
D’Amico and Sons had leftovers from a catering party that afternoon and
the leftovers just so happened to be enough to feed 50 people; the
church group that was looking for a place to volunteer and just so
happened to have a group of 8 ready to go the night we needed them; the
delivery of Subway sandwiches “just because” on a night that our dinner
group had canceled.

It has taken me years to learn that my role as a volunteer is not to
save the world or even to save one person. My role is simply to do what I
am called to do and leave the divine intervention – the miracles – to
God. I just need to show up and trust that he’s got it covered.

The homeless shelter at First Covenant Church in Minneapolis – now in
its FIFTH year – opens again for the season Nov. 1. It’s an
“overflow” shelter of a larger Salvation Army operation, open
November-April, specifically to shelter guests from the cold. This
morning I prayed for their opening, and specifically for a flood of
volunteers this season. Then I got curious and visited their volunteer
page to see how many dinner crews were signed up already for November.
Here’s what I found: November is booked solid. Beyond that, nearly every
night of the week has a volunteer group scheduled to serve meals
through April 2016. THROUGH April!

That first year was a challenge, to say the least, but every single
thing done by every single volunteer during that first year helped lay
the foundation on which the shelter has been built and continues to
thrive. I got word recently that they are even in talks about becoming a
year-round shelter! Only God...

We don’t always see the fruits of our labors, but it has to be enough
to trust that we’re where God needs us to be. But first we have to be
there, show up, even when it seems like our presence couldn’t possibly
make a meaningful impact in the world.

Even when... “We ourselves feel that what we are doing is just a drop
in the ocean. But the ocean would be less because of that missing
drop.” – Mother Teresa

I pluck a pair of jeans off the rack. Oooh,
perfect. This pair has those stretchy little elastic tabs for sizing. My son’s
pants are always too big around his little waist. I drape them over the cart
handle.

I move along and my fingers linger briefly on a
pair of jeans with pink fringe decorating the bottoms. Girls’ clothes are always
so much cuter than boys. And in that instant, I feel him come up behind me.

I busy myself with my search. My fingertips
graze an embroidered flower on the back pocket of a pair of girls’ jeans. I
never did understand why they mixed the boys and girls clothes together in this
store.

He laughs at my frustration—a throaty chortle—then
moves in so close that I can feel him breathing on my neck. But there’s no
fear. I know him too well to be afraid of him anymore. We spent endless days,
sometimes weeks, together in the beginning without so much as a break. He even
infiltrated my dreams.

I turn around to face him. What are you doing here, Grief? It’s just an ordinary day.

He smirks, knowing I know better than that. Ordinary
days are my favorite days. You know I like to arrive when I’m least expected.

It’s true. He rarely shows up on the days when
I’m prepared for him—birthdays, heaven days and holidays. I move on to the rack
of long-sleeve shirts, and he moves along with me like a pesky shadow. He’s
practically touching my arm as he peers over my shoulder.

I like that one. He
points to a hot pink shirt with a peace sign and daisies decorating the front.

Me too.
I would have gotten that for her.

And you probably would have had a matching shirt
of your own. Maybe you’d call yourself twins and she’d giggle, hug you and say,
‘I love you mommy’.

I exhale sharply and shake my head. He knows me
so well.

Can you believe she would have been five this
year?

Tears prick my eyelids, but they don’t fall.
Instead I think about the school clothes I would have bought for her—most
likely in this store on a Toddler Thursday. An ordinary day. During her four
months with us she wore many of the clothes I bought for her; others remain in
a pink bin with the tags still attached.

You look sad. Does it bother you that I’m here?He cranes his neck so he can see my face.

I shake my head. No,it was harder in the
beginning, but now I’m sort of used to you … of course, I could do without these
random visits.

He laughs and I move along the rack, selecting
an orange and brown striped shirt. I don’t attempt to ignore Grief anymore.
That makes him feisty and he sticks around even longer, poking and prodding
until he gets my attention.

I stop and turn to face him. Actually, sometimes I like it when you come.
The pain feels raw again and it feels like proof that she was really here. That
she lived.

He looks away.

I turn back to the rack and I can feel his eyes
on me. I think I’ve learned how to deal
with you. My friends have helped me. And the support group. And God.

He huffs. Disbelief. Maybe he thought we’d spend
every day together. Not too long ago, that’s the way it was. Just his presence
had me reeling and I’d cry each snap of his fingers.

But over time, that changed.

Nothing has changed. Your baby still died. His
tone was sharp. A last ditch effort to break me.

But the weight of loss, and the way I’d come to
bend to Grief’s unexpected visits, gave me a strength I never could have found
otherwise.

This is
a lifelong journey and you’ll be with me forever … It doesn’t have to be a bad
thing. We can learn how to live with each other.

I wait for a smart remark, but he’s quiet. I
pick up a tan shirt with a dinosaur on the front. Oh, he’ll love this!

I head for the checkout and Grief follows, a few
steps behind me now.

“Hi there,” I say to the clerk behind the
counter. “How are you today?”

Grief gives a little grunt then walks toward the
door. He gets ornery when he’s not at the center of my attention. Out of the
corner of my eye I see him raise his hand and give a little wave.

See ya soon kiddo. Take care.

I turn quickly to look at him—was that
compassion in his voice? But it’s too late, he’s already outside on the
sidewalk, strolling away—at least for today.

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Meet Amy

I recently gave up an 18-year journalism career (over 1,800 articles for newspapers, magazines and specialty publications) to more seriously pursue writing Stories That Inspire. There's enough bad news out there, I'm sharing the good stuff! If you haven't stopped by yet, be sure to visit my website at www.amylyon.com